Trifecta
by JoBabeAlly
Summary: Follow up to Tryptych: Sherlock discovers Molly and John's most hidden fantasies...and then his two lovers discover his. Another story in three parts. Consensual polyamory with some roleplaying dubcon, slight bondage and spanking, and of course it's all Jollock. Don't like don't read, please and thank you!
1. Molly's Dirty Little Secret

_Author's Note - A followup to Tryptych. Polyamory, NSFW, noncon role play. Don't like, read no further. Part one of three._

Molly read the note, read it again, and huffed in amusement. So Sherlock and John 'requested' her presence up in John's old bedroom, did they? And 'requested' that she first change into the outfit provided for her? Well, Molly Hooper was nothing if not adventurous; her willingness to enter into a polyamorous relationship with two men certainly proved that much!

When she opened the box laid across the center of the bed, she gasped at the sight of the gorgeous Regency-era gown that greeted her. Beautiful as it was, however, it did not escape her notice that it was also a bit on the flimsy side – although not due to being cheaply constructed, since the fabric felt and looked very much like real silk! No, it was much more likely so that the gown would be easier to put on than the real thing would have been…and conversely, easier to remove. The sleeves were short, barely covering her shoulders. Even so that was still accurate to the period, as was the scooped neckline that she could tell would ride quite low on her chest. The most interesting part of it was the way the sleeves were attached to the bodice of the gown by a series of hooks and eyes, rather than being properly sewn, as if they, too, had been designed for ease of removal.

Which made sense if tonight was going to be about what Molly hoped it would be about…

She felt her heartbeat quicken in her chest; clearly her boys had some sort of role play in mind for this evening's romantic activities, but aside from that her mind was a blank. She'd never expressed a particular interest in the early 19th century, the period from which the dress clearly dated – which meant it must be one of Sherlock's fantasies they were indulging! Him and his fascination with pirates, oh, this could be fun!

She quickly discarded her work clothing, not bothering to replace her knickers since the dress came with a pair of semi-period appropriate underdrawers in the form of a sheer white chemise and matching knee-length knickers through which her dark pubic hair was very visible when she reviewed herself in the mirror. She quickly donned the accompanying gown – a lovely rose pink with dark grey trim – then the matching stockings with period-appropriate rose-colored garters for each leg, forearm-length opera gloves (dove grey and so soft against her skin) and a pair of delicate grey slippers.

As she stood admiring herself in the mirror – and debating whether or not to put up her hair or leave it down – a knock came at the bedroom door. She called out, surprised that either Sherlock or John would bother knocking when they'd all seen one another naked, in the midst of changing, everything but using the toilet (sacrosanct in Molly and John's minds, although Sherlock thought nothing of barging in if the door wasn't locked, which it ALWAYS was now, after the unfortunate 'Christ, Sherlock, I'm taking a fucking DUMP here' incident with John). "Come in?"

The door opened, and John poked his head in, his eyes lighting up as he saw that Molly was fully dressed in the clothing that had been provided. She gave a little spin to show him the full effect, and his grin widened appreciatively before he stepped into the room and schooled his expression into one a bit gruffer.

She started to examine his clothing, trying to get a further clue as to what he and Sherlock might have in store for her, but was immediately distracted by the short length of rope he was holding in his hands, along with a strip of fabric that could either be used as a blindfold – or a gag. "John?" Molly asked uncertainly, once again meeting his eyes.

The smile made a return, a reassuring one this time. "Sherlock said to tell you there's a safeword – fishnet – and for you to use it if anything we do makes you uncomfortable." He cleared his throat, a slight flush on his features as he continued. "He also said this was something that you wanted but were afraid to ask for, and to tell you that he's looking forward to it. And if it really is something you want and he's not just pulling deductions out of his arse," he added with a sardonic lift of the lips, "then I'm all in as well. But if it's not, just say the word – the word being fishnet, of course – and it's off." That last was said firmly, with a shift of the eyes upward that spoke volumes to Molly. John was not sure that this – whatever it was – was actually something she wanted, and was going to make damned sure that Sherlock didn't cross any lines.

Not that the three of them had many lines left to cross, after nearly a year of living together as romantic partners, but it was touching to know that John was looking out for her. She loved them both so much; how had she ever gotten so lucky?

It was exciting, however, to suddenly realize what Sherlock must have in mind. The odd sleeves on her gown, coupled with the rope in John's hands and the blindfold (or gag)... A night featuring _her_ secret fantasy, then, not his... She felt herself flushing hot and then cold, face flooding with color at the thought of one of her darkest, most secret fantasies being deduced by one of her lovers…how had he known? And no wonder John was dubious; what woman in this day and age would admit to wanting such a forbidden thing? And if she did go through with it, would either of them think less of her for it – well, no, of course not, she silently scolded herself as she finally took in the details of John's costume. He was barefoot, wearing a pair of ragged cut-off canvas trousers tied at the waist with a piece of rope that appeared to match the length he was still holding in one hand, and a striped sailor's shirt, tight, short-sleeved, collarless and utterly delicious looking on him.

If John had any serious misgivings, he wouldn't have gone even this far. He'd have asked Molly directly, before changing or waiting for her to change. So no, he wouldn't think less of her, nor would Sherlock. And it was no one else's business went on between the three of them in private, she reminded herself even as she felt her hands trembling a bit with excitement and a tiny flush of shame – after all, a rape fantasy didn't mean she endorsed rape in the real world. She'd seen enough murdered women – and a few men – on her morgue slabs to recognize the difference between fantasy and reality, thank you very much! No, outside of whatever scenario Sherlock had cooked up for the three of them tonight, she understood very clearly the difference between reality and fantasy. And her two lovely men did as well, she knew that from seeing their reactions when they'd dealt with cases where rape had been involved.

But then, that was one of the defining things about sexual fantasies; what disgusted you in the real world, could turn you on in the bedroom. And all three of them said and did absolutely filthy things with one another when in private they would never even consider doing or saying in public, and…and John was staring at her in concern while her mind wandered down Justification Lane and Repressed Desire Avenue and she suspected the question he was about to ask before the words left his lips. "Molly? Are you sure? Have you changed your mind, or did Sherlock just make all this up?" His expression lowered into one of near anger as he muttered, "If he did, I will bloody well rip him a new one!"

He started to drop the rope he was still holding when Molly rushed forward and grabbed it, placing it back into his hand and wrapping his fingers around it, placing a reassuring kiss on his lips as she did so. "No, John, it's true, it's something I've always wanted…well, ever since I started reading my Mum's old romance novels on the sly, anyway," she confessed with a guilty smile. "I was thirteen, that's a pretty impressionable age, I guess. So the idea of…this sort of thing…being romantic, well, it's never entirely left my mind no matter how untrue I know it to be in real life. But this, it's just us, the three of us, yeah? No one else's business but ours." She bit her lip and lowered her eyes as her cheeks burned. "So why don't you get busy tying me up, Mr. Pirate," she said in a husky voice as she raised her gloved wrists and placed them closely side by side. "We wouldn't want to keep the captain waiting!"

"Say the safe word, Molly," John instructed her before moving so much as an inch, although his expression had eased up quite a bit as she spoke. She obediently repeated 'fishnet' and promised to use it if she felt uncomfortable…and did her best to school her expression into one of pseudo-fear as John secured her wrists together, then tied the strip of soft, dark fabric around her head, blindfolding her.

She bit her lip to keep from giggling with excitement as John, firmly in character, jerked on the rope and hauled his 'captive' up the stairs to his former bedroom. That room now served as a combination catch-all and extra storage for their clothes, and she couldn't wait to see how her lovers had transformed it to suit the fantasy they were about to live out. Because Sherlock was nothing if not a stickler for detail.

"Look lively, Mr. Watson," she heard him snap out as John shoved her (gently, with no real force behind it) through the door he'd just opened. "Does the wench know the word?"

"Aye," came John's gruff reply. Clearly he was relishing the role playing as much as Molly was – and as much as she hoped Sherlock was as well. "Say it for the cap'n, woman," he said, giving Molly's arm a shake.

"F-fishnet," she stammered out, pretending to a terror she was far from feeling, although her heart was pounding in her chest as if it sought escape. "The word is fishnet," she repeated, more firmly this time.

She heard footsteps, and remained still, her bound hands in front of her, as Sherlock walked up to her and yanked the blindfold off her face. John had tied it tightly enough to remain in place, but not so tightly that it hurt when Sherlock pulled it off and dropped it disdainfully to the floor.

Both men remained silent as they allowed her to take in the sight of the extra room, which had been, as she'd anticipated, rearranged into the semblance of a ship's deck. There were canvas sails and netting and even rigging set up here and there, camouflaging the storage bins and extra furnishings – all but her old wooden wardrobe, used now for seasonal clothing storage, an old trunk once belonging to John's grandmother, and her former bed, which had apparently been reassembled just for this endeavor.

She almost broke character to express her admiration for all the hard work her lovers had put into the setting, but a sharp glance from Sherlock reminded her of the role she was currently playing, and instead she asked, in a quavering voice, what they intended to do with her. "My father is rich," she improvised as she raised imploring eyes to meet Sherlock's – which had gone very cold and very, very blue, making the tiny amber flecks seem even brighter by comparison. He was decked out in a very authentic looking outfit consisting of a white long-sleeved shirt open at the collar, black vest, tight black leather trousers and knee-high black boots. A black tri-cornered hat sat at a rakish angle atop his curls, and he held a riding crop in one black leather-clad hand.

Molly thought her knees might collapse at the delicious sight of him, but she managed to remain standing, in part due to John's continued presence at her side, one hand firmly on her shoulder. When she spared a glance at him, he leered at her and made a kissy face, which she pretended to recoil from as Sherlock grasped her face in his hand, forcing her to meet his icy gaze. "Don't lie to me, Miss Hooper," he said, his voice as cold as his expression. "Your father is a merchant, but he's hardly wealthy. No, you're not worth the bother of ransoming. My first mate and I have...other uses to which we wish to put you."

"Please, sir," she said in a quavering voice, then bit her lip hard to keep from smiling as she felt John's free hand caressing her backside, his lips pressing damp, open-mouthed kisses to the side of her neck. She pretended to wince and try to free herself from him, but his grip on her shoulder and Sherlock's on her chin kept her firmly in place.

"Please what, wench?" Sherlock asked, lips curling in a sardonic smile. "Please kiss you? Why yes, I do believe I will."

Then he leaned down and crushed his lips against hers, forcing his tongue between her lips and giving her no opportunity to try and turn her head to escape the punishing kiss.

Molly felt positively dizzy as pure sexual pleasure shuddered through her body, her thoughts going hazy as 'First Mate' John shoved her dress up over her hips and tugged at the drawstring holding her old-fashioned knickers in place. They slithered down her legs, but instead of kicking them aside as she would under normal circumstances, she remained firmly in character, moaning out a protest and pressing her thighs tightly together as John stroked his fingers through the coarse hair of her pubic mound.

"Oho, we've a fighter on our hands, cap'n!" he crowed as Molly struggled lightly against their mutual grasps – and then a bit harder, enjoying every second of it as Sherlock released his grip on her chin and yanked her by the arms until her chest mashed up against his. At the same time, John nimbly undid the buttons that ran up the back of her gown. She shivered at the touch of his fingers against the delicate fabric of the chemise, then gasped as he took it in his hands and wrenched it apart, tearing a long rip down the back of it and exposing her bare flesh to the air.

_I hope it wasn't a rental costume,_ Molly found herself thinking with a semi-hysterical internal giggle before her mind became wholly occupied with the scenario John and Sherlock had concocted for her. John was still behind her, pressing a series of urgent kisses along her spine, while Sherlock was fondling her breasts through the loose material of the dress that hung half-off her body. "Oh, please, please don't hurt me," she found herself begging breathlessly, while her eyes no doubt told Sherlock she meant exactly the opposite of what her mouth was saying.

Not that she wanted to be hurt, of course, but a little roughness, now _that_ she could get into. She let out a whimper of pleasure (disguised as one of terror) as she was forced onto her knees, her dress and the torn chemise removed and tossed aside so that she knelt between her two 'pirates' almost completely nude (the underdrawers remaining tangled around her ankles), hands still bound before her.

Then her thoughts flew completely out the window at the sight of Sherlock's hands busily undoing the buttons to his trousers, quickly hauling his completely hard prick out and fondling it while she took in the sight. Her mouth went a bit dry, and she bit her lip in anticipation of his next move.

Sure enough, he leered down at her, pressing the thumb of his free hand onto her lower lip and easing her mouth open. "Do be a good girl, Miss Hooper, and demonstrate your..._lingual_...skills for me, hmm?"

John had knelt down behind her and was fondling her breasts, his movements rougher and more impatient than usual. Her nipples had already stiffened into tight little nubs, but when he pinched them while at the same time sucking hungrily at her neck, she groaned and rubbed her backside against his erection, which felt to be just as hard and lovely as Sherlock's looked.

"Stay in character Molly," John groaned against her skin, pinching her nipples and nipping at her neck in chastisement. She responded to the intoxicating stimulation by grinding herself even harder against him, and he groaned again, leaning his forehead against her shoulder. "Christ, you're killing me, woman!" he muttered.

"Sounds like our new plaything needs a lesson in following the rules," Sherlock rumbled in response to the byplay between his two kneeling lovers. He reached down and yanked Molly's hair at the nape of her neck, forcing her head upwards. His gloved thumb was still on her lower lip, and the movement caused her to automatically open her mouth, into which he thrust the tip of his cock. "Take it in, Miss Hooper," he growled as she bobbed her head forward, anticipating his command and eager to do as he wanted. 'Punishment,' indeed! Nothing like being 'forced' to do one of your favorite activities...

She heard Sherlock attempt to stifle a groan of pleasure as she took in as much of his cock as she could, laving her tongue against the hard length before getting down to business. She'd never sucked anyone off without the use of her hands before, which made it incredibly awkward. Frustrated, she raised her bound hands up and grasped the base of his cock, causing Sherlock to gasp aloud and mutter, "Christ, Molly! John's right, stay in character!" before easing her hands back down. "Mr. Watson!" he snapped, once again back in character as he glared down at the other man. "This wench needs a further lesson in obedience!" He nodded toward the discarded riding crop, lying on the floor near his feet. "Four lashes across the buttocks should do it!"

John reached over and grabbed the crop, leering at Molly's widened eyes (mouth still busy sucking Sherlock's cock, of course) and caressing the prop across her cheek before lowering it to her backside and delivering the required strokes after a brief hesitation (not doubt in case she chose to use her safeword).

Molly flinched under each blow, but never once lost her oral grip on Sherlock's cock. She shut her eyes tightly against the prickle of tears (well, it had hurt!); she'd never been one for more than a sharp slap across the bum during sex before, but couldn't deny how absolutely wet she'd become as each blow landed. Especially once she felt John's lips moving across the burning red strips now decorating her arse cheeks, his tongue caressing the length of the marks and bringing a moan of desire from her lips.

The sensation must have been quite pleasurable to Sherlock, who sucked in a breath and suddenly pulled Molly's head away from his cock. "Enough of that," he said briskly, hauling her to her feet and snapping his fingers to indicate that John should rise as well. His breathing, however, was far from steady, and Molly had to lower her head to hide her self-satisfied smirk.

If she thought Sherlock had missed her most recent reactions, however, she was proven wrong as he bent his head to hers and murmured, "You promise to use the safeword if we go too far, Molly, right?" Then he reached over and tenderly wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes.

"Don't worry," she murmured back, since out of character vocalization seemed best suited for such a tone. "I promise." She flashed him a quick smile, replacing it immediately with an expression of faux-fear as Sherlock started tugging her by her bound hands in the direction of the bed. "Wh-where are you taking me now?" she gasped, pulling away from him and flicking her eyes down toward her ankles, where her knickers still pooled.

John followed her glance, grinned crookedly and knelt back down to pull them roughly off her body, removing her shoes at the same time. "Won't be needin' those where we're goin'," he said, leering at her as he stroked the riding crop down her side, eliciting a delicious shiver that she pretended was one of revulsion. He left the stockings on, however, and Molly felt a sense of incredible power, knowing that, even with her wrists bound, she was still the one in control here. One word and this would be over, her two lovers left aching for her, frustrated and most likely begging for release.

And she absolutely loved it.

Molly continued to struggle lightly against Sherlock's grasp as he pulled her toward the narrow bed that had once been hers. There was a mound of pillows at the headboard, which John hustled to discard while Molly watched in some confusion. Sherlock halted their forward progress in order press a few kisses to the back and sides of her neck, moving her hair so that it rested over left shoulder, neatly covering her breast. Once John had left only a single pillow, Molly's eyes widened in delight as she saw what they had apparently been piled up to conceal: a rather prominent hook had been screwed into the wood (forever ruining it, but really, she couldn't possibly care less about a stupid piece of Ikea furniture she'd owned for ten years), centered precisely in the middle. She almost told Sherlock how absolutely brilliant he was, but thought better of it when he his hands tightened warningly on her hips and he nipped at her neck much the way John had only moment earlier.

She struggled gleefully as John hopped off the bed and turned to grin at her. Breaking character himself (not that she could blame him), he pressed himself against her body and covered Sherlock's hands where they still rested on her hips with his own. He gave Molly a hard kiss, then Sherlock, who tutted but otherwise made no complaint at what must surely be a deviation from the script. Molly took advantage of John's position in front of her to stroke his erection, cupping his balls and grinning as he choked back a moan of pleasure at her touch.

"She's doing it again," John complained, although the grin hovering over his lips showed exactly how not-upset he was at the turn of events.

"Well, then, Mr. Watson," Sherlock replied in a low, velvety purr that sent a veritable barrage of shivers down Molly's spine and straight to her core, "perhaps it's time we removed temptation altogether, hmm?"

John pulled away, watching avidly as Sherlock lifted Molly into his arms. She struggled lightly against his hold, biting back a grin of her own as he carried her the few remaining feet to the bed. Once there he laid her down, John joining them to pretend to hold down her ankles while Sherlock straddled her, raised her arms up over her head and secured the rope to the hook. A little experimentation told Molly she could easily free herself if she so desired, but since she had no such desire she simply let out a moan of ostensible fright as she begged them once again not to hurt her. She made sure that the last word to leave her lips was a breathy "Please," drawing out the ess and turning her head away when Sherlock lowered his face closer to hers.

"She said please, Mr. Watson," he said in a conversational tone, his breath warm on her cheek as he stretched out on her right side.

"That she did, Cap'n," John replied, moving to take up the same position on her left. "Please what, d'you think?"

"Mmm, please suck my tits, would be my guess," Sherlock replied. He knew her so well; she turned to meet his gaze, seeing the impish smile on his lips as his head lowered until his lips just grazed the tip of her breast. As usual, he knew exactly what Molly wanted; she loved the feel of both men's mouths on her breasts at the same time and could hardly contain a squeak of pleasure as John and Sherlock commenced teasing her with their tongues and lips and (occasionally) teeth.

It was all designed to bring Molly to a state of delirious bliss, and she gave up any pretence at struggling as she felt John's hand slide down to her core, dipping one finger between her folds before gliding it softly up to rest against her clit. "Please," she gasped out, eyes fluttering shut as she arched into John's touch. "Please, please, please…"

"Oh, she begs so prettily," Sherlock murmured against her breast. "Shall we give the lass what she wants, Mr. Watson?"

"Aye," John mumbled, his mouth still busy on her left breast. He gave the nipple one last, sucking kiss before moving down to rest between Molly's legs, hoisting them over his shoulders and giving her a positively devilish grin before lowering his head and placing it where his hand had just been.

Sherlock swallowed her moans as he swooped in for a demanding kiss, tongues wrestling in an urgent duet. His hands were on her breasts, ceaselessly moving; kneading them, pinching the nipples, stroking the undersides while she writhed under his and John's combined ministrations. Her eyes had snapped shut as soon as John's tongue descended to her cunt, working her into a frenzy as Sherlock continued to kiss and fondle her. After a moment he moved his mouth back to her breasts, suckling each nipple in turn, one hand lowered to rest on John's head as he began speaking, a delicious stream of filth and encouragement that made Molly moan and gasp, bucking her hips against John's mouth with every word. "God, Molly, your breasts, they're fucking perfect, have I ever told you that? Mmm, yes, arch your back again, just like that…I know you love John's mouth on you, God knows I do, he's fucking amazing, isn't he? Would you like that next, hmm? To watch John go down on me, suck me off and let me come all over you? Or would you rather I fucked you while he lets you suck him off, you're rather talented yourself, didn't mean to slight you, hope you didn't take it that way…"

Molly came with a strangled shout, her body rigid and arms aching from being restrained for so long. John sat up on his heels, gazing down at her with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips as she opened her eyes and gave him a rather dazed-looking smile of her own. "Tastes fantastic, Cap'n," he said, still somehow in character – ooh, she couldn't wait to fuck that ability right out of him – and turned his smirk on Sherlock. Their lover sat up abruptly and pulled John to him for a lingering kiss, tasting Molly's musk and making appreciative noises the entire time.

Molly took the opportunity to slip her arms free of the hook, then nudged Sherlock with her knee. "Time to bring out the fishnets, I think," she said cheerfully. She held her bound wrists up for him. "Starting to lose feeling a bit."

"Fuck! Sorry!" John scrambled out of Sherlock's embrace and knelt over Molly, nimbly undoing the knots he'd tied earlier. Then he removed the gloves and examined her wrists, back in doctor-mode, grumbling at her for not saying something sooner. "Shit, Molly, people are going to think you were taken hostage," he said, eyeing the red ligature marks in dismay.

"It's winter, John, I'll have on long sleeves and a jumper under my lab coat," she reminded him, then pulled him down to drop a gentle kiss on his lips. "Stop worrying." She giggled. "I'd be more concerned about the state of my arse than my wrists; thank God no one will be seeing that other than you two!"

Then nothing would do except for her to roll over to lie on her stomach so he could make sure he hadn't done any lasting damage to her buttocks, castigating himself for getting too deeply into the role. Sherlock huffed and told him to stop fretting, that Molly was clearly unharmed and oh, my, wasn't that a lovely position she'd taken up? Perhaps John could offer up his penitence by shagging her silly, the way she clearly wanted him to…

In the end he did exactly that, hauling Molly to her knees and sinking his cock deep inside her. As he did so Sherlock eased his way beneath their joined bodies, positioning himself so that Molly could easily take him into her mouth, which she did with no small amount of enthusiasm. Being able – and allowed! – to use her hands made a huge difference. He groaned and thrust his hips upward as she set to work, and Molly hummed her approval as she felt John's hands on her hips as he increased his movements, pounding against her rhythmically. She loved him taking her from behind like this, whether she was sucking Sherlock's cock as she was now or whether Sherlock was behind John, fucking him just as hard as John was fucking her.

The mental picture that conjured easily brought Molly to orgasm; she slipped her mouth from Sherlock's cock and cried out as she bucked her hips wildly, greedy for John to keep fucking her through the aftershocks. He eased up only when she shuddered and lowered her head to Sherlock's stomach, gasping for breath and nearly limp in the aftermath. "Don't stop now," she said when she regained the breath to speak, shooting John a wicked look over her shoulder as she fisted Sherlock's dick and ran her thumb over its glistening head. "You've got me where you want me, don't you, 'First Mate'?"

He responded to her words with a rumble of laughter and the resumption of his movements against her body. She slipped her mouth down over Sherlock's dick and began sucking him off in earnest, determined that the three of them would reach their respective orgasms within minutes of one another – and rather hoping for a repeat performance on her own part, which was not unheard of under such delicious circumstances.

Sure enough, a few minutes later John was shouting and thrusting wildly against her, Sherlock was making strangled noises and jutting his own hips upward into her mouth, and she found herself in the delirious position of being filled by both men at virtually the same instant. Her own orgasm, alas, was not to be, but since she'd already had two she consoled herself that it was wrong to be greedy…and then squealed with surprised laughter as John pulled away and Sherlock flipped her on her back and lowered his head between her legs.

The first time he'd gone down on her immediately after John had come inside her had seemed so wrong, so filthy and downright unclean that she'd almost pushed him off her, but now…she loved it. Oh, she wouldn't be writing anything about it in her diary or blog, but in the moment? It was exactly what she needed to bring her over the edge, feeling Sherlock's tongue lapping eagerly at the cum dribbling out of her pussy, knowing that he loved the taste of her and John's combined juices – and wasn't afraid to say so, even outside of the bedroom, which had turned both John and Molly into blushing, stuttering messes the few times he'd done so.

She wasn't blushing or stammering now, though, as John laid down next to her and gave her a deep, loving kiss. She nipped at his lower lip and urged him to move one hand down, to rub his finger against her clit while Sherlock continued to lick her pussy with an eagerness that still caught her by surprise now and again. Even though the three of them had been together nearly a year she still had moments of disbelief that she and John and Sherlock Holmes were romantically involved, that they were having sex with one another in varying combinations…that Sherlock actually wanted her and that she was living out her deepest, darkest fantasies while at the same time living much the same life she had been before. Working at St. Bart's, helping Sherlock and John with cases, taking care of her cat and meeting her friends for drinks, going to the cinema…it was surreal, that was the word, but she'd take it.

Sherlock chose that moment to shove his tongue deep inside her, and she groaned against John's mouth, knowing it was the consulting detective's way of letting her know that he realized she'd allowed herself to get a bit out of the moment – and to remind her why the moment wasn't one she wanted to miss.

A few more deep thrusts of his tongue and Molly felt the familiar surge of energy, rising, spiraling through her, and she pulled her mouth away from John's, gasping and crying out as his finger rubbed her clit exactly the way she needed it to while Sherlock's mouth moved against her slick folds, his tongue stabbing deep inside her. She wailed and thrashed and came hard, riding Sherlock's mouth and holding onto John for dear life until finally going completely limp beneath the two of them.

She was vaguely aware that Sherlock had crawled back up and was now comfortably resting his head on her chest while John eased himself onto his side next to her, his arm across her middle and his hand on Sherlock's hip. She felt comfortably cocooned, warm and satiated and loved.

"Mmm," she said after a minute, knowing she was about to drift off to sleep but wanting to let her lovers know just how much she appreciated everything they'd done for her this evening. "You two, you are the most amazing men I've ever known, I don't think I tell you that enough. I love you both, thank you, thank you so much…"

She was silenced by first Sherlock and then John's lips pressed against hers. "Don't be daft, we love doing things for you," John murmured, sounding just as sleepy as she did. "Don't we, Sherlock."

"Of course," he replied. "Do stop undervaluing yourself, Molly, you know we love you."

She and John both went very still at his words. Yes, Molly knew that Sherlock felt…something…for her and John, but to call it love like that? He'd never used the word in this context before, and Molly felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

Sherlock huffed impatiently, but his hand was gentle as he brushed the tears away. "Yes, Molly, I love you. I love you, too," he added, looking directly at John. "Just because I don't say it doesn't mean I don't feel it. Do try to keep up you two!" The last was said gruffly, but there was no mistaking the glint of real emotion in his eyes.

"We love you too," John said, his own voice suspiciously rough. "Now let's get under the covers and get some sleep, yeah?"

"Yeah," Molly agreed. Sleep sounded wonderful, and she knew she'd have sweet dreams after the evening's activities…and the three words Sherlock had finally spoken to her and John.

More than one fantasy had finally come true tonight.

_Author's Note: Next up, John's fantasy_


	2. John's Fantasy Life

_Once again, polyamory, m/m, m/f, m/m/f. Don't like, don't read. Second of three parts. Thanks to the folks who took the time to review!_

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1

The message had been both straightforward and mysterious: _"Meet me at the pool. You know which one so don't waste my time asking. 10pm. Sherlock."_

So here he was, at the pool at 10 pm sharp, as requested, revolver in his jacket pocket and tension in his shoulders as he silently pushed open the door to the mostly darkened room. "Hello?" he called out, not seeing Sherlock at first. And not bothering with silence or an attempt at sneaking; the moment the squeaky door opened he'd been silhouetted in light and a target for anyone who might have evil intent.

Then the other man moved out of the shadows, hands folded behind his back. He was standing near the wall not ten feet away. "Prompt as always, John."

John frowned; something was off about this whole thing, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it could be. It didn't feel like a case, was the only way he could describe it; nor did it feel like some sort of trap. "Sherlock?" he asked, not moving. "What's this about?"

The other man gave a low chuckle. "Come, John. You don't think I could deduce your darkest fantasies as easily as I did Molly's?"

Fantasies. He'd said 'fantasies,' plural.

"It's one of your favorite scenes to wank off to, once you started imagining having sex with me," Sherlock continued, his voice a low, sensuous rumble as he beckoned the other man forward. John moved without realizing he was doing so until he was right in front of his lover, who lightly ran his hands up John's arms. "You and me, Moriarty and the gunmen gone, the explosives dealt with…just the two of us, alone. You had quite a hard on that night, John, don't think I didn't notice it. Danger does that to you. And if I had grabbed you like this…" He spun John around so they were facing one another, gripping the shorter man by the forearms. "And shoved you up against the wall like this…" Again Sherlock suited actions to word, while John felt his breath catch in his throat at the intensity in his lover's eyes, glittering in the reflected light from the pool. "And then kissed you, like this," Sherlock added softly, lowering his head and capturing John's lips with his in a searing kiss that only ended when Sherlock pulled back to study John's reactions, no doubt seeing everything in spite of the low lighting. "If I had done that, what, I wonder would you have done next?"

The knowing smirk on his face said he wondered no such thing, that he'd already deduced the answer, but John was beyond caring at this point. He reached up and grabbed Sherlock's head, pulling him down again so he could return the kiss, fingers digging into those glorious dark curls while his other hand reached down to cup Sherlock's equally glorious ass, hauling their bodies even closer together.

Sherlock was chuckling as they broke apart, John panting for breath, still holding tightly to the other man. "Um, probably not that," he said with an embarrassed grin. No, he wouldn't have been able to admit to his feelings for Sherlock, the desperate wanting he'd felt for him after their lives had inexplicably been saved by a single mysterious phone call. But now…now was a different story. He and Sherlock and Molly were together, and although they occasionally paired off like this, they were more often a true threesome. He glanced around, half-expecting their other lover to appear out of the darkness, but then Sherlock slipped out of his grasp, grinning madly, and sank to his knees.

As those long, clever fingers of his undid the snap and zip to John's jeans, freeing his straining erection from the trapping fabric, the only thing John was thinking about as how good Sherlock's mouth was going to feel on his aching cock.

And God, was he right about that. One hand slapped against the wall behind him, the other returned to clutching those dark curls as Sherlock sucked eagerly, cupping John's balls and kneading his ass at the same time.

It didn't take long for John to come, gasping and swearing as Sherlock swallowed and eventually pulled his mouth away with a loud, no doubt deliberately obnoxious, slurping sound. He sat back on his heels, grinning up at John's red, sweaty face. "You're right, John, I doubt it would have turned out this way, but there's nothing wrong with rewriting a little history when the outcome is so very, very favorable." Then he winked and rose to his feet, adjusting himself a little while John shakily tucked himself back into his pants and neatened up his clothing.

When he had the breath to talk again, he gestured toward Sherlock's trousers and said, "Need any help with that? You know, return the favor and all?"

Sherlock grinned and kissed him, hard. "Nope," he said when the kiss ended, popping the p and giving John a mischievous look. "After all, one of us should still be able to give Molly a proper greeting when she gets home in an hour."

He took off laughing when John made to cuff him on the side of the head at the implied insult; he knew very well how quick John's recovery time was post-ejaculation, and after that mocking little challenge there was no way in hell Sherlock was going to get to be the only one showing Molly just how appreciated she was.

2

John was musing on the goings-on from the previous evening, mentally reliving both the exhilarating session by the pool and the glorious lovemaking a very confused – but very, very pleased – Molly had been subjected to afterwards, when his mobile rang.

"_Need you at the morgue to pick something up from Molly, any time after 10pm. Sherlock."_

It was a little after 9:00; John sighed and downed the last of his lager before heading off to Bart's. He'd stopped at the pub on the way home after a particularly long evening helping Sherlock and Lestrade – who was still, a year into it, very bemused by the unusual living arrangements between John, Sherlock and Molly – with a case. Sherlock had gone off with the DI to investigate something at the victim's home, but not before telling John to go back to Baker Street and get some rest as he wasn't needed for this bit.

The man could still irk him at times, be a right royal pain in the arse…but then he would turn around and do something unexpected and wonderful to make up for it. Like sending him off to Molly for a little alone-time. Picking up evidence or test results or (he hoped not) pilfered body parts from her wasn't exactly a night on the town, but at least he'd get to see her, maybe even share a cab home with her if her shift ended on time.

As he entered the morgue, allowing the door to swing shut behind him, John was confused by the low lighting; surely Molly hadn't left already? He called out her name and she popped out of the small office at the back, smiling brightly as she hurried up to greet him. "Oh, Doctor Watson, how lovely of you to come, Mr. Holmes said you'd be by to pick up the results!"

John blinked at both the way Molly was dressed and the way she was addressing him. As if they were mere acquaintances instead of friends and lovers. But then, he realized as he took in the sight of her, that was rather the point, wasn't it? His lips curved up in a grin as he understood what tonight was about…and he thoroughly approved.

Molly was dressed, not in her usual work attire of shapeless khakis, colorful blouse and cheerful knit jumper, but in a short, flowery skirt that showed off her lovely legs to perfection, topped with a thin, lacy blue camisole that clearly revealed her nipples, puckered into inviting little nubs with the cold. Covering the ensemble was a short, fitted version of her usual white lab coat, nipped in at the waist and with only one button holding it closed. She was grinning, biting her red-painted lips and clutching a thick sheaf of what appeared to be blank papers in her hands as she looked at him.

John cleared his throat, looked away in order to compose himself a bit (and get into character; until Molly's little fantasy six days ago he hadn't realized how much he enjoyed role playing), then looked back at her with a serious expression on his face. "Yes, the results." He nodded at the papers she was still holding. "This it, then? Shall I?" He gestured with one hand, and she glanced down as if surprised to see the papers.

"Oh! Yes, of course!" she chirped. Her voice was breathy, pitched a bit higher than normal, and her giggle as she tripped forward did marvelous things to his nervous system. John was practically tingling with anticipation, and wasn't disappointed when she suddenly said "Oops!" and dropped the papers, scattering them to the floor. She placed her hands on her hips and gave an exaggerated pout as she studied the mess she'd made. With an apologetic smile, she turned her back on John and bent down from the waist, causing her short skirt to ride up, revealing the tiny scrap of fabric she wore beneath it, almost too small to be called knickers and rather…damp looking in a certain spot.

Despite what Sherlock had loudly declared many times, John Hamish Watson was not an idiot. He certainly recognized an invitation when he saw one. And if his immediate thought as he grabbed Molly by the hips and rubbed his rapidly-developing erection against her pert little ass was something along the lines of 'bow-chicka-wow-wow' he certainly wasn't going to hum the porn-movie music aloud.

As he bent over her, he murmured, "Better let me help you with that, yeah? All those heavy papers Sherlock makes you carry around for him when he doesn't even work here…what a berk."

Molly's startled laughter was purely her own and nothing to do with the character she was playing for this little assignation, but she quickly schooled herself back into the role as she agreed softly that sometimes Mr. Holmes didn't treat her as well as he ought.

The two of them straightened up, the faux-report left scattered on the floor as Molly turned in John's embrace and placed her hands on his shoulders. Fluttering her eyelashes at him she cooed, "He's not a gentleman, Dr. Watson. Not like you. You know how to treat a lady properly, I can tell."

"Yeah, I think I do," John replied, lowering his head to hers for a sweet kiss. She was soft and pliant in his arms, molding herself against him, and if it wasn't for the fact that anyone could walk in on them, he'd bend her over the nearest counter so fast…

Oh. Wait. He mentally smacked himself for the idiot Sherlock had all-to-often accused him of being. "Nothing scheduled here for the evening, Miss Hooper?" he said, smiling at her and easing one hand beneath her sketchy little lab coat.

She widened her eyes and shook her head. "Oh, no, nothing tonight, Dr. Watson. Why is there…is there something you need me to help you with?"

"Well, it's a bit of a private experiment of my own," he replied with a cheeky grin, the hand gently exploring beneath her lab coat moving up a bit, not quite touching her breast but coming very, very close. "The doors lock, I presume?"

"They locked as soon as you they shut behind you," Molly replied, head lolling back on her neck as he finally reached up to cup her breast. "They're electronic," she gasped out as he tweaked her nipple and began nibbling on her neck. "Um, set on a t-timer, won't open again for an hour."

That _had_ to be Sherlock's doing, and even though it was extremely chancy having sex in a technically public area, well, that was exactly what he and the other man had done just the night before. Still, John's conscience prodded him; he pulled away from Molly and gave her a stern look. "You won't get into trouble for this, will you?" He glanced up uneasily, finally remembering the presence of the CCTV cameras tucked into the four corners where walls met ceiling.

Molly followed his glance, then caressed his face until he looked back at her. "Disabled," she said with a cheeky grin of her own. "And no, I won't get in trouble John, Sherlock's keeping an eye on things." She glanced up at the nearest camera and added, "Well, I should say they've been diverted rather than disabled." She blew a kiss and said, "Enjoy the show, darling!" before turning back to John and once again diving into character, widening her eyes and adding that breathy quality to her voice as she said, "What experiment can I help you with, Dr. Watson?"

Satisfied that Sherlock had everything under control – and rather looking forward to the footage their lover was no doubt recording at this very moment – John also went back into character, maneuvering Molly to the nearest counter top and lifting her up to sit on its edge. "Well, this experiment requires quite a bit less clothing, actually. For science," he added solemnly.

"Oh, well, as long as it's for science," Molly agreed, just as solemnly, although there was a definite twinkle in her eyes as she shrugged out of the lab coat and toed off her high heels. She wasn't wearing stockings, and the rest of her clothing was easily removed. John allowed her to unbutton his shirt, but stopped her from removing it entirely, citing the need for some scientific detachment, which she demurely accepted despite it being utter crap as an excuse. The truth was that he was excited at the prospect of fucking her up on the counter, completely nude, while he still kept on at least some of his clothes.

Going along with John's purported 'scientific' reasoning, Molly opened up his trousers and pushed them down past his hips, making an "oooh" sound as soon as his prick was freed. "My goodness, Dr. Watson, a girl could get quite an education studying that," she simpered, batting her eyelashes outrageously as she brushed her hand over his erection, causing it to twitch. "For science, I mean."

Oh, that did it. John growled in a very near imitation of Sherlock at his most impatiently aroused, then wrenched Molly close to the edge of the counter so that he was cradled between her soft, pink thighs. "Well, then, Miss Hooper," he said, "let the experiment begin." Tugging her head back, he kissed her, reaching between her legs and rubbing his thumb over her clit in the circular motion he knew from quite a bit of experience was the fastest way to bring her off. Molly gasped and arched her back, her small, perfect tits bouncing a bit with the movement; without breaking his rhythm, John bent down and began licking and suckling those wonderful, perky nipples, eliciting a series of titillating groans and gasps and little mewls from Molly's lips.

He felt her thighs tightening around him and knew she was close, so he slipped a single finger into her dripping channel. She threw her head back and let out a long, satisfied groan that he listened to with almost as much satisfaction as she was demonstrating. Well, perhaps not quite that much; he glanced down at his erection and decided now was the perfect time to try one of his favorite magic tricks. "Watch it disappear," he muttered to himself, chuckling as he heard Molly's giggle of appreciation at a familiar joke turn into a gasp of pleasure as he sank deep, deep inside her.

It was so amazing to feel her clenching around him, her legs wrapping his body as she leaned back on her elbows. To think that he'd once dismissed Molly Hooper as a nice but rather boring woman who was a bit too enamored of Sherlock for her own good! Then again, the same could be said of him, and probably had been by Molly back in the day. Not the woman part of course…John groaned as Molly raised her hips a bit, allowing him better access, and his jumbled thought slipped away.

Well, those days were done and gone; she was his now, she and Sherlock were both his, and he was theirs, and this little game of 'find the fantasy, fulfill the fantasy' wasn't only going to be for himself and Molly. Oh no, he decided as he thrust into Molly's soft, welcoming warmth, hearing her gasps of pleasure and meeting it with ones of his own; Sherlock Holmes wasn't the only one who could deduce others, and one way or another, John was determined to find a way to repay their lover for these amazing encounters.

When he voiced that very intent to Molly, she nodded eagerly, then shuddered and cried out as if John's words had been all she needed to push her over the edge. He followed soon after, collapsing against her heated flesh until the sense that his legs might give out on him had been vanquished.

When he and Molly left the now-unlocked room, they were demurely dressed and aside from a certain flushed happiness on their faces and their entwined fingers, gave away nothing of what had just happened between them.

3

"_Meet us at Angelo's for late dinner. 10pm. Sherlock."_

John grinned in anticipation. This time he knew something exciting was going to happen, something Sherlock and Molly had cooked up for him specifically. He'd enjoyed the one-on-one time with each of them the last two days, but somehow he'd known that those two occasions weren't the only fantasies of his Sherlock had worked out. This latest text message indicating another 10:00 assignation was proof of that.

John's shift at the clinic ended at seven, and Molly didn't get off work until eight, so it was no surprise that he came home to an empty flat. Sherlock was actually doing something hush-hush for Mycroft, or so the second text message had read; John had chuckled, practically hearing Sherlock's eyes rolling as he typed the words.

John showered and changed, not sure what to expect but wanting to be ready for anything. Sherlock had said to meet 'them' at Angelo's, so he was expecting the voice mail Molly had left for him, assuring him that she would see him later but that she wasn't coming home until 'after'.

After what, John still had no idea. Well, sex, of course, but sex at Angelo's? A busy, popular restaurant? Even that might be a bit much for his recently-discovered exhibitionist streak. He forced himself to just relax, to wait and see, mentally hearing Sherlock's scoffing voice telling him it was useless to speculate ahead of the facts.

He couldn't help picturing various scenarios during the cab ride, though. Images of the three of them in the kitchen or the men's loo were immediately discarded, and he definitely couldn't picture the three of them in the dirty little alley that ran behind the bistro, with kitchen staff banging in and out the door with loads of rubbish to put into the bins!

Mentally throwing up his hands, he settled for anticipating a good, late supper at the very least. Angelo's veal parm was one of John's favorites, even though he knew he'd endure a great deal of teasing from Sherlock about his weight if he ordered it. At least Molly would be quick to defend him; she had heard her fair share of snotty weight-related comments from Sherlock in the past, and refused to tolerate them. Especially, John thought with a smirk, after the button-popping incident that had Sherlock silently seething…and then buying a new shirt a size larger and just as silently daring them to say anything.

He paid the driver and jumped out of the cab as they arrived, walking through the door to see Molly seated alone at their usual table by the window. She was sipping a glass of wine and smiled to see him, patting the seat next to hers, backs to the windows. He kissed her in greeting and asked about her day before wondering aloud where Sherlock was. "He'll be here," was Molly's vague reply, along with a shrug. Typical Sherlock; make plans and then casually break them. Probably for a case.

Biting down his disappointment, John accepted the glass of wine Angelo offered him, nodding his thanks and glancing at the menu without much interest. His appetite had been whetted by Sherlock's message, but not for food, and the sight of Molly in her tight red dress, one that he had bought for her last Christmas, wasn't doing anything but further excite his libido. "Should we just bugger off back home, then?" he suggested to her softly, gliding his fingers up her leg suggestively, knowing that the long tablecloth would conceal his movements from casual view.

"Hmmm? Oh, no, I don't think so," she said, her voice a breathy gasp. John looked at her, really looked, and noticed the glazed look in her eyes, the redness of her cheeks, how tightly she was clutching the edge of the table and the labored way she was breathing. He glanced quickly around the restaurant and saw that the two of them appeared to be the last seating of the night; the rest of the dimly lit dining room was empty, not even waitstaff or Angelo loitering about. Odd, now that he thought about it. But when he felt someone else's hand covering his where it still rested on Molly's thigh, and felt that thigh twitching beneath his fingers, he figured out what was going on.

"Holy shit, Molly, are you two fucking _insane_?" he hissed out, eyes once again darting around the room. Not only the dining room, but taking in the fact that they were sitting against the street-level window, where anyone could look in and see what his two partners were up to…

He pretended to drop his napkin and ducked down to confirm his suspicions; yes, Sherlock was crouched beneath the table, his head buried in Molly's lap and making some very suggestive movements and even more suggestive noises. Either she hadn't worn any knickers or else he'd removed them and stuffed them into his jacket pocket, hard to tell in the darkness. Sherlock pulled his head away long enough to order John back up; he sat up with a jerk, face red, dick hardening, and distinctly heard Sherlock's amused voice assuring him that he was next.

Molly was biting her lip now, and John belatedly recognized her 'trying not to wake Mrs. Hudson' face. Since it was clearly too late to just grab Sherlock's head away and halt the oncoming storm, instead he dove in and kissed Molly, whose hands groped blindly for his shoulders before latching on. Her mouth was greedy and desperate beneath his, and he felt the strain of her body as she fought not to writhe beneath Sherlock's ministrations. The other man's hand still gripped John's, one finger sliding suggestively along his palm, and suddenly Molly wasn't the only one fighting to keep still. His tongue stabbed desperately into her mouth and she let out a low, gasping moan. Then her orgasm rolled over her; her body stiffened, her teeth sank into his lip, and John was hard pressed not to shout at the mingled pain and pleasure of her bite. Instead his hand dug into her thigh, the other one holding desperately to her head, and he hoped that no one had come into the dining room where they were making such a spectacle of themselves.

When he could spare a moment to glance around, he was pleased to see that the room remained empty. What was more, the lights in the kitchen were out, and he heard no sounds of anyone moving about. "Did Sherlock get everyone to clear out once I got here?" he asked Molly, now that she was in a state to be able to answer questions again.

She nodded and tsked at the sight of the blood on his lower lip. "Sorry!" she exclaimed, sounding chagrined. "Did I do that? Oh, of course, I must have, that was a silly question, sorry!"

He kissed her just to keep the unnecessary apologies from continuing to spill from her lips, tasting his own blood and not really minding. What was done was done, and he mumbled reassurances to her between kisses. Movement from beneath the table alerted him to what was about to happen next; he automatically opened his legs wider as he felt Sherlock's deft touch on the button and zip to his trousers. Then his erection was tugged free and those glorious lips were on his cock and it was his turn to fight a very difficult battle not to thrust upward to meet Sherlock's downward strokes.

Molly had snuggled next to him, one arm around his shoulder, fingers stroking his ear and hair as his eyes closed. He kept his hands on the edge of the table, gripping it just as tightly as she had been, gulping audibly as he felt her smaller fingers squirming into his trousers and reaching down to cup his balls.

It wasn't long until John was fighting back cursewords, breathing heavily, body taut as a bowstring as he came in Sherlock's mouth.

When the detective untangled his lanky form from beneath the table, John was in no shape to do anything but watch as Sherlock took his seat, ostentatiously wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and licking every single one of his long fingers. Then he leaned forward on his elbows, glancing back and forth between John and Molly with a very smug smile on his face. "Mmmm, this always has been my favorite place to eat," he purred. "Wouldn't you agree, Molly?"

She leaned forward and captured one of his hands in hers, dipping the tip of one finger into her mouth and sucking on it suggestively. "Mm, yes, delicious," she agreed. "Right, John?"

John simply shook his head and adjusted his trousers, tucking his spent dick back inside. "You two really are fucking insane," he pronounced.

"And you wouldn't have us any other way," was Sherlock's all-too-true retort. "Now. Shall we repair back to the flat where you can both repay me for my lavish attentions this evening?" He stretched in an exaggerated gesture. "My back, you know; not good to be all bent up like that."

Molly giggled and John shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. God, they really were fucking crazy, but he loved them both. "So, no actual food, then?" he asked as he glanced down at the menus they'd been given.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Honestly, John," he scoffed, "it's not as if you're being starved to death. We'll order some Chinese and pick it up on our way to Baker Street, will that do?"

John nodded. "Yeah, good enough, I guess. But I was really in the mood for Italian." He stood and offered Molly his hand.

Sherlock glared at him. "Well, too bad, because Angelo's already closed the kitchen."

Molly, who had come around the table with John, pulled Sherlock down for a quick kiss. "Stop fussing, Sherlock, you know he's just teasing! Now go out there and use your magic to flag down a cab while I order the Chinese." She held up her mobile and made shooing motions with her hands.

Muttering to himself about ungrateful doctors and bossy pathologists, Sherlock threw on his coat and stalked out the door, while John and Molly tried not to laugh.

As soon as the door shut behind Sherlock, however, Molly looked over at John, nibbling on her lower lip. "This was…all right, wasn't it, John? Not…too much?"

John kissed her and hugged her tightly. "Nah, it was perfect. Unexpected, but perfect. Just like the last two surprises you two cooked up for me." He kissed her again, then helped her into her coat as she entered their standing order into the mobile app and sent it off to their favorite Chinese restaurant.

When all three of them were back at Baker Street and had stuffed themselves with dim sum and various other favorites, they sprawled out on the sofa, Sherlock with his arm around John's shoulder and Molly cuddled between their legs on the floor as she sipped a glass of wine. "So. The restaurant," Sherlock said abruptly, breaking the peaceful silence. "And the pool and the path lab. You understand?"

John sighed. "Yes, of course, Sherlock, you really do have to stop underestimating my intelligence. You deduced that I've always had a bit of an exhibitionist streak in me, so you made sure that all three of these wonderful little interludes were in public places. But you also made sure no one really could just walk in on us." He paused. "So thank you. For both." Then he pulled Sherlock's head down and gave him a thorough snog, feeling Molly's hand stroking his leg and knowing by the sound of her wine glass being set on the coffee table that she was doing the same to Sherlock. Soon the two men hauled her up to join them; clothing was removed and discarded in random heaps, and mouths were once again employed in giving and receiving kisses. Molly ended up with her head in Sherlock's lap, sucking greedily at his cock while John's mouth worked a wet line from her pussy to her puckered hole further back.

"Is this still part of you fantasy, John?" Molly gasped out as she felt his finger sliding deep within her, right where his mouth had just been. He was preparing her, scissoring her a bit as a second finger joined the first, and she slid her curled hand around Sherlock's cock.

He knelt up behind her, watching as her mouth once again descended to take Sherlock deep inside her, and pressed the head of his cock against her nether entrance. "You two are always my fantasy," he growled, then began easing his way inside her, watching avidly as Sherlock's hands massaged Molly's bobbing head, his own head thrown back on his shoulders and his gorgeous eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Once fully seated inside Molly's tight heat, John leaned over and kissed the back of her neck. He started moving, slowly at first, then faster as he heard her gasping and moaning even as she continued to bob on Sherlock's cock. John reached down and squeezed her breasts, pinching the nipples, knowing it would make her suck harder and possibly even use her teeth a bit. Which they both knew Sherlock absolutely loved. With his free hand he stroked her pussy, loving the slick feel of her beneath his fingers, knowing it wouldn't be long before she would be keening with pleasure, bucking back against his cock and nearly swallowing Sherlock's down to the base.

Sure enough, it wasn't very long before Molly was clenching around him, his cock and his fingers, and he began thrusting harder as she cried out, making obscene slurping noises as she attempted to ride out her orgasm whilst simultaneously continuing to bring Sherlock off. It was a challenge she'd never failed, to John's knowledge; hearing a strangled cry from Sherlock's lips a few seconds later, he knew she hadn't failed this time either. With a satisfied grin, he grabbed Molly's hips and increased the pace of his thrusting, watching as Sherlock practically bent himself in half in order to tug Molly's face up to meet his for a heated, sloppy kiss that only served to shoot John's libido even higher. With a guttural moan he came, fingers digging into Molly's hips and head thrown back much the way Sherlock's had just been.

He eased his way free of Molly's body and sat back, then hauled her into his lap and tilted her head up to meet his for a kiss as heated as the one she'd just shared with Sherlock. He felt the other man rising to his feet and groaned, knowing that he and Molly were about to be nagged into leaving their current positions and walking the approximately five million steps to their bedroom. "Come on, John," Sherlock's deep baritone came, right on schedule. John felt him tugging at his hand, and then Molly was off his lap and giggling madly as Sherlock hoisted her over his shoulder. "Bedroom, John," he called back as he strode off with their girlfriend. "Let's see what sort of stamina records we three can break tonight, shall we?"

John shook his head but rose obediently to his feet. God, he loved those two; they had very different ways of doing it, but they could both easily twine him round their little fingers.

Especially after a night like this. And John Hamish Watson wouldn't have it any other way.


	3. Sherlock Is Deduced

**Warnings for gun play and BDSM including someone getting hit with a riding crop.**

"Ah, Mr. Holmes. How good of you to join us."

Sherlock paused just inside the door to his flat, taking in the sight that greeted him. John was seated in his chair – Sherlock's chair, not John's – wearing a vaguely militaristic ensemble consisting of grey slacks, matching grey shirt, dark navy blue tie, well-shined black shoes, and a crisp navy blue blazer. Molly stood at parade rest beside him, clad in a version of the outfit she'd worn for John's morgue-sex fantasy – the tailored white lab coat, buttoned at her waist over a tight black mini-skirt and a navy blue push-up bra. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun, she was wearing the black stiletto heels Sherlock had purchased as a gift a few months back, her lips were a deep crimson, and – best of all – her black-rimmed glasses were perched on her nose.

He felt a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, but forced it away as John casually lifted one hand, revealing that he was holding his service revolver – unloaded and safety on, his finger carefully kept away from the trigger as he pointed it at Sherlock. "Do close the door, Mr. Holmes. Wouldn't want to disturb your landlady would we?"

He gestured negligently with the gun, and Sherlock obediently closed – and locked – the door behind him, heart thrumming with excitement. Ever since John and Molly had moved in, Mrs. Hudson was a bit less casual about just dropping in, but it wouldn't do to be careless. "Might I ask what this is about?" he said, once again fighting to hold back a delighted grin. Oh, his two wonderful people knew him so well, this was exactly what he might have asked for himself, given the chance! With any luck handcuffs and the riding crop would be involved.

"Hmm, let's just say that your activities as an agent for your brother haven't gone unnoticed," John said coolly. Immediately Sherlock's mind began sifting through the various scenarios John's words suggested; some sort of spy caper, an interrogation culminating in sexual 'assault' in order to coerce him to hand over whatever faux information John and Molly would pretend to demand of him. Or perhaps vengeance for some evil plot he'd thwarted, or a warning being sent to his brother…

"Miss Hooper!" John barked, interrupting Sherlock's feverish – and very, very eager – thoughts. She stepped smartly forward, her gaze still trained on Sherlock. "Do assist Mr. Holmes in removing his clothing. Wouldn't want to miss any weapons he might have tucked away here or there." John allowed his gaze to linger on Sherlock's body as he spoke, deliberately looking him over from head to foot and back again. Sherlock felt his face grow hot, and his cock definitely liked what was happening; he was half-hard and it wouldn't take much more for him to get to iron-rod status, as Molly liked to call it.

Molly managed to keep her face mostly expressionless as she approached him, but as soon as she stopped in front of him her lips twitched in a small, self-satisfied smile. Oho, so this had been her idea, had it? He would be sure to show her his appreciation just as soon as he was allowed to. For now, he simply moved his arms in order for her to slide his Belstaff off, hanging it neatly on its hook before tackling the rest of his clothing. Interestingly enough, instead of hanging his scarf with his coat, or folding it neatly with the rest of his clothing and setting in on the sofa, she instead wound it around her own neck. Apparently Miss Hooper had plans for that scarf, and Sherlock felt his flush of arousal deepen.

"Whatever it is you hope to accomplish, I can assure you, you'll not find me very cooperative," he said as Molly knelt in front of him in order to remove his shoes and socks. She surreptitiously ran her hand up the inside of one leg, and he found himself hard pressed not to haul her to her feet, grab John, and lead the way to their bedroom. But he wasn't in charge this time, a rather disconcerting – and surprisingly exciting – change of pace for the three of them.

"Your cooperation isn't required, Mr. Holmes," John said coldly. He smiled, a dangerous smile, and gestured with the unloaded pistol. "The handcuffs, Miss Hooper."

Molly jumped to her feet and hurried back to the chair. "Yes, Dr. Watson," she said, her voice a breathy octave higher than normal. Part of the role she'd assumed, or merely her own excitement coming through? Either way it went straight to Sherlock's cock, which twitched as if she were still running her hands over his bare skin. John, he noted happily, was no more immune than he was; he shifted in his seat, discreetly adjusting his own prominent erection as the two of them watched Molly bend over, one foot theatrically raised behind her as she rummaged around behind Sherlock's chair. She stood back up, a pair of Lestrade's liberated handcuffs dangling from one finger and a wicked grin curving her lips.

"Bedroom, Miss Hooper," John croaked, tearing his eyes away from her with what appeared to be a great amount of difficulty. He rose in a leisurely fashion from Sherlock's chair, his eyes trained on Sherlock's cock, and licked his lips. "Time for Mr. Holmes to learn exactly why we've joined him here this evening, hmm?" Maintaining character, he continued to hold the gun pointed at his lover while Molly snapped the cuffs over Sherlock's wrists.

"Safeword is waistcoat," she murmured as he tested the bonds. "Say it now, Sherlock, and tell me if they're too tight."

"Waistcoat," he repeated obediently, loudly enough for John to hear as well from where he now stood by the hallway entrance. "And no," he added softly, "not too tight at all. Miss Hooper."

A dimple appeared in Molly's cheek, but she showed no other sign of amusement at hearing Sherlock refer to her so formally. For tonight, she would be Miss Hooper and John would be Dr. Watson, and he would be Mr. Holmes.

It all promised to be a great deal of fun.

**oOo**

Ten minutes later Sherlock learned how right he'd been. He stood against the wall, with his manacled wrists held above his head and attached by a short length of chain to a pair of sturdy eye-bolts that most certainly hadn't been there when he'd untangled himself from his lovers this morning in order to reluctantly join Mycroft at the Diogenes Club for a quick little case that hadn't been worth bothering either of them about.

When he'd first been brought into the bedroom his eyes had of course zeroed in on that little improvement to the room's décor, and he'd once again been hard-pressed not to beam with delight at what his two partners had cooked up for him. He'd instead simply arched an eyebrow and commented, "Went to quite a bit of trouble for this interrogation, didn't you. My, my, you must really want answers. A pity you'll not be getting them from me." But he'd continued to study the eye-bolts, taking in the short length of chain that dangled from it, and the padded manacles that were clearly destined to replace the handcuffs he currently sported, and he salivated a bit in anticipation.

John had smiled coldly as he grabbed Sherlock by the head, tucking the unloaded gun under his chin as he forced the taller man to his knees. "Miss Hooper," the former army doctor purred as he casually unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt and shrugged out of his coat, "do show Mr. Holmes the type of incentives we have for him to tell us what we want to know."

Molly had sauntered over to him with a prim little smirk hovering over her lips, then slowly, deliberately unbuttoned her lab coat. She dropped it to the floor – earning a disapproving scowl from John, who had hung his neatly over the back of the room's single chair – then just as slowly shimmied out of her skirt, leaving her clad only in her matching navy blue set of knickers and bra. Those swiftly joined the rest of her clothes – all but Sherlock's scarf, still wrapped securely around her neck – which she didn't bother kicking out of the way as she stopped with her crotch directly in front of his mouth.

Which had suddenly become utterly devoid of saliva at the sight she'd revealed upon removal of her knickers; Miss Molly Hooper was now entirely clean shaven from armpit to ankles and everything in between – especially her sweet little snatch, the slit already glimmering with moisture. She moved closer, teasing him with her naked sex, stroking herself, gliding her fingers along her slit and eventually holding them up to his mouth. He inhaled deeply of her delicious scent, his tongue darting out to taste her but she teasingly moved her fingers away, leaving him to growl in frustration as she laughed down at him. "Ooh, he's an eager one, Dr. Watson," she said, offering her fingers to him instead.

Sherlock's growl became a stifled groan as he watched John sucking Molly's well-lubricated fingers between his lips. "Mmm," he said in agreement as he met Sherlock's frustrated gaze. "But good to know how interested he is in what we have to offer in exchange for his assistance." He gave her a little shove, not hard, just enough to move her so that her groin was directly aligned with Sherlock's waiting mouth. He darted his tongue out and managed one, two, three eager swipes before John pulled Molly back and leered down at him. "Ah-ah-ah, Mr. Holmes," he said, wagging an admonishing finger at him. "Cooperate, and Miss Hooper will be happy to allow you to continue."

Miss Hooper, it would seem, was happy to allow him to continue in spite of John's words; giving him a pout, she turned back to Sherlock and threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly to bring his mouth back to her body. "Do go on, Mr. Holmes," she cooed as he nuzzled her soft, pink flesh.

"Miss Hooper!" John's voice was a whip, and she jumped back, lower lip stuck out in an adorable pout that Sherlock longed to kiss, to suck into his mouth and nibble on. "And if I don't cooperate?" he said instead, obediently following John's script – from which Molly, it appeared, was all too eager to deviate.

"Miss Hooper? Show our 'guest' the consequences of not cooperating," John said, never removing his gaze from that of his erstwhile prisoner.

Molly turned her pout on John. "But Dr. Watson," she whined, only to yelp as John gave her ass cheek a firm smack. "Yes, Doctor," she muttered, turning to do as she'd been told. Sherlock and John both watched as she bent over – making sure that her bare ass, still tinged a hot pink from John's blow, was on prominent display – and pulled something out from under the bed.

Sherlock's cheeks were as red as her ass as she stood back up, his riding crop in her hands. The sullen expression had been replaced by eagerness, and she licked her lips as she once again met Sherlock's gaze. "Shall I demonstrate, Dr. Watson?" She whipped the crop through the air with expert ease, clearly relishing the whistling sound it made as it came within inches of Sherlock's thighs. His body quivered at the near-contact; he'd never been afraid of pain, nor had he ever particularly welcomed it, but in this moment he knew that he would come perilously close to completely losing control if Molly and John continued to tease him.

Ah, that thought had occurred to his two lovers as well; John reached down and opened the drawer to the bedside table and pulled out a toy they'd used once or twice in the past – a dark blue cock ring. As John slid it over his erection, Sherlock couldn't stifle a groan of pleasure. But John didn't allow his hand to linger more than a second or two before abruptly pulling away, no doubt struggling to maintain character.

Molly was staring at Sherlock, licking her lips and stroking the riding crop as if it was Sherlock's cock. "Now, Dr. Watson?" she asked huskily.

"Not just yet, Miss Hooper," John replied, his own voice gone a bit thicker. He cleared his throat, then reached down and once again dug his hands into Sherlock's curls, yanking him back to his feet again. He stumbled a bit, and Molly was at his other side in an instant, watching anxiously as he steadied himself but saying nothing. If either of them were waiting for him to safe-word out, they would have a long wait; he had no desire for this little entertainment to end – certainly not before Molly had given him a more…hands-on…demonstration of her expertise with his weapon of choice!

They led him over to the wall, Molly removing the handcuffs while John once again held the gun pointed at Sherlock's head. Molly gave his wrists a brisk rub, murmuring, "Will you be all right with the padded cuffs we've got for this part?" She indicated the items in question; eyes shining with one part eagerness and one part curiosity – he'd never tried anything like this before! – he simply nodded, noting that the short length of chain would allow his two shorter companions to handle him more easily, without either straining to reach his wrists or being forced to resort to clambering up on a stool and thus break the mood they'd worked so hard to create.

Once he was securely fastened, his naked buttocks resting against the flocked wallpaper, John laid the gun on the nightstand and took a seat on the edge of the bed, casually reaching down to remove his shoes and socks, then unfastening the remaining buttons on his dress shirt. "Now, Mr. Holmes, perhaps you would care to enlighten us as to your actions during the Sussex Vampire case."

Sherlock licked his lips, screwing his eyes up in pretend concentration. "Hmm, colorful name, not sure I remember…"

_Thwack!_ The riding crop came down on his right thigh, stinging hard. He grit his teeth but allowed no sound to escape, either of pain or of pleasure, remaining entirely in character. "So, carrot and stick approach, is it?" He slanted a look at Molly calculated to rile her up. "Not very original. Even if the carrot is holding the stick, as it were."

She smirked, reaching down lightning fast to wrap her strong little hand around his cock. "Careful, Mr. Holmes. Or the 'carrot' will do some very naughty things to your 'stick'."

"Miss Hooper, do try not to damage him this early in the game," John said, sounding bored as he moved to join them, grasping her wrist and gently prying her fingers away. But he also made sure to brush his own fingers against Sherlock's straining cock, which twitched in response to the delicate touches. Both his tormentors grinned as Sherlock let out a groan, partially out of frustration – well, no, entirely out of frustration, actually.

John leaned his shoulder against the wall, gliding his fingers up from Sherlock's cock, up his abdomen, his chest, his clavicle, grazing his cheekbone gently as he said, "So, Mr. Holmes. The Sussex Vampire case. Tell us about it."

Sherlock yawned deliberately in his 'interrogator's' face. "Sorry, not interested in sharing. Neither carrot nor stick is giving me much incentive at the moment."

_Thwack!_ Another sharp blow with the riding crop, this time on the opposite thigh. Sherlock winced and wobbled a bit as his cock throbbed in time with the welt Molly had raised. At the same time, John grabbed him by his hair, yanking his head down and forcing a kiss on him that left Sherlock both dizzy, breathless – and even more turned on, if such a thing were even possible at this point. "Ah," John purred, rubbing his thumb along Sherlock's zygomatic arch. "Perhaps the carrot approach will work after all. Miss Hooper, the scarf, if you please."

Humming happily to herself, Molly unwound his scarf from her neck and reached up so that it covered his eyes, which he shut as soon as the soft material met his flesh. She fussed over the knot a bit, her breasts and especially her hard nipples rubbing against his chest as she did so, and Sherlock knew that the teasing was finally coming to an end.

"All good?" she murmured, and he nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment. Her hands were on his cheeks, pulling his face down toward hers, and he met her kiss eagerly, to hell with the role he was supposed to be playing. Kissing Molly was one of his favorite recreational activities, and he still cursed himself for wasting so much time with her. But he had her now, her and John, his two lovely people who were doing a damned good job at making this fantasy everything he could possibly hope for. And the three of them were certainly making up for lost time!

"We can make our time together very enjoyable, Mr. Holmes," John said, his voice thick with desire. He and Molly were both stroking Sherlock's body, coming teasingly close to his cock but never quite touching where he most wanted them to. "And all you have to do…"

"And all I have to do is tell you about the Sussex Vampire, is that it?" Sherlock broke in, voice straining with desire. "Give away one of my brother's most important government secrets and you'll let me have all the sex I want?" Sherlock put a sneer in his voice, difficult but not impossible as he felt one hand – Molly's, he thought – graze his bollocks and reach back to tease the sensitive flesh between his scrotum and his anus.

"Believe me, Mr. Holmes, it'll be well worth it," John assured him. Then both hands suddenly released him; he heard the slightest creaking sound from the floorboards to indicate that they'd both stepped away from him, and then a sound that heated his blood and sent it pooling southward – John was taking off his clothes, now he was as naked as Molly and one of them was kneeling on the floor, no hands touching him as a tongue – difficult to ascertain whose since his brain seemed to have stopped working – swiped its way down the side of his cock. It was quickly joined by a second tongue and Sherlock found his groans and gasps impossible to restrain.

He pulled against his bonds as one of his partners – John, this time, he thought – mouthed the top of his cock. Then he felt a slick finger slide against his ass, pressing against his puckered hole and smelled the light scent of the jasmine lubricant Molly favored for such activities and his groans became moans of purest bliss. Even blindfolded he could tell Molly's fingers from John's, could tell it was her lips pressing damp, open-mouthed kisses along his thighs and buttocks as she slipped one finger deep inside him.

By this point he was tugging at his bonds, wanting to be able to touch his two lovers the way they were currently touching him. His cock was throbbing, the ring keeping him hard and ready but he wanted it off, wanted to be able to fuck John and Molly into sobbing heaps. "The Sussex Vampire was a cover for a drug smuggling ring," he croaked out, making up the story as went along. He fell silent as John pulled his aching cock deep into his mouth and throat while Molly continued to finger-fuck his ass. She had two fingers in there now and soon there would be three and a hot flush rose over his body as he recognized how he was being prepped – and for whom. Would he be allowed to fuck Molly while John was inside him, or would he only be allowed to lick her cunt? Would they untie him or leave him standing?

"Tell us more, Mr. Holmes," Molly said as she used her free hand to caress his bollocks. John pulled his mouth away and Sherlock nearly swore at him but swallowed the words as he continued to spew out some ridiculous tale of foreign drug-lords and local turf wars and his brother's desire for the case to come to a swift conclusion because his favorite golf course was in the hands of the criminals.

Molly chortled at that part – Mycroft was, indeed, an avid golfer but had never of course found himself in such a pickle – and John chuckled as well. "Bollocks," he said amiably as he realized the two of them had gone completely out of character. Molly might be able to pull herself together, but Sherlock knew John was well and truly out of the game now. Which was fine with him, as he desperately wanted to be freed and on the bed. As in NOW. "Waistcoat," he gasped out.

Instantly Molly and John pulled away from him, which was far from the desired outcome – but he knew it was only so they could free him. Sure enough, John undid his wrists and Molly pulled the scarf over his head, peering anxiously at him as he blinked and shook his arms. "Bed," he ordered, hauling her close for a searing kiss that left them both breathless. "Now."

Molly wasted no time in clambering up on the bed, kneeling and watching as John grabbed the container of lube from where she'd put it on the bedside table. Sherlock pulled him close for a kiss just as passionate as the one he'd bestowed on Molly. They tumbled onto the bed together, Sherlock landing with his head in a giggling Molly's lap, which was more than fine with him. "So I've given you lot what you wanted, now it's my turn," he growled, disentangling himself from John and nudging Molly's legs further apart as she scooted up to rest against the headboard. Without waiting for anything as boring – or unnecessary – as permission, he nuzzled into her naked sex, inhaling deeply of the well-loved scent of her, his tongue eagerly sliding between her nether lips to lap at the gathering wetness.

"Ungh," she moaned, her fingers tangling in his sweat-dampened curls. He felt John moving around behind them, then the sound of the other man's fingers scooping up a dollop of lube alerted Sherlock as to his intentions. All to the good, but first…he reached down between his legs, taking care not to pull his mouth away from Molly's sweet pussy by so much as a micron, and carefully removed the cock ring. He dropped it over the side of the bed, knowing that either John or Molly would take care of it later – an embarrassing incident involving Mrs. Hudson cleaning up after a particularly enthusiastic night had made the other two very, very thorough in their post-coital cleanup activities. It wasn't that their landlady was a shrinking violet, but more the thought of having to endure any more of her knowing looks and "oh-to-be-young-again-and-able-to-take-two-cocks-at-once" comments.

Sherlock settled himself to the serious business of getting Molly off while John took over the task of stretching Sherlock out enough to take his cock. John was thick and lovely and Sherlock could hardly wait to feel him inside his ass; the very though caused him to grab Molly's thighs a bit tighter, which in turn caused her to tug sharply at his hair and drag a grunt of pleasure from his lips. That of course vibrated against her cunt; he turned his attention to her clit as he felt John shifting up behind him. Then John's fingers pulled out and were replaced by the slick head of his cock. Suckling softly on Molly's clit, he timed his ministrations to her increasing tension and the soft mewls and the occasional "fuck yes Sherlock" she mumbled. Just as John plunged into him, Sherlock made sure to push two fingers deep into Molly's cunt. She cried out and pumped her hips furiously against his face as she rode out her orgasm.

Her pleasure ensured – for the moment, since he rarely let one of their pleasant little encounters pass without attempting to make her come at least twice – he was able to focus on the feel of John's cock moving steadily in and out of his ass. Oh, the burn was fantastic, brilliant and he wasted no time in assuring the other man of that fact. "John, you have no idea how bloody brilliant it feels when you're inside me," Sherlock said, resting his cheek on Molly's thigh. Her fingers combed gently through his hair and he spared a moment to look up at her smiling, flushed – and extremely satisfied looking – face. "I fucking love how you feel, just as much as I love being inside you or Molly."

His female partner leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his head as he snapped his hips back to meet John's forward thrusts. John leaned down as well, resting his chin on Sherlock's shoulder before moving his head to meet the other man's for a sloppy, urgent kiss. Then John lifted his head to kiss Molly, who pulled one hand from Sherlock's hair – he whined in protest, he loved having someone run their fingers through his hair – to rest against the nape of John's neck. "Mission successful, Dr. Watson," she murmured in a wicked reprisal of her 'villainess' voice. "We've got him now."

"Fuck yes," John gasped, reaching around to fist Sherlock's cock. "You've got that right, Miss Hooper." He grinned, first at Sherlock and then at Molly. "We've got him, all right. Just as much as he's got us." He moved faster and Sherlock groaned and knew it wouldn't be long before he spilled all over his lover's hand and his other lover's thighs and knew, absolutely _knew_, that he couldn't possibly have found two better people to share his life with.

_Author's note: Sorry for the long delay but this chapter was giving me fits. I hope you liked it, and thanks for reading!_


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